"Names are just labels we put on things we don't understand yet."
—Gareth Lancer
The call came at dawn, which was Arcadia's favorite time to deliver life-altering news to sleep-deprived cadets who were too tired to argue.
Recruits were ordered to the upper atrium—the highest chamber of Arcadia's central spire, a cathedral of glass and steel that had traded faith for pure function. Light poured through a lattice of beams overhead, casting fractured geometric patterns across the polished floor. Every cadet stood in perfect formation, the silence broken only by the hiss of boots on carbon tiles and the nervous breathing of teenagers trying to look like soldiers.
Commander Vale entered last, her coat trailing behind her like a declaration of war. She didn't need to raise her voice—the chamber's acoustics did that for her.
"Cadets," she said, and the single word carried the weight of judgment. "Today, you stop being recruits. You become operatives."
The murmurs died instantly, choked off by the sudden gravity in the air.
Vale gestured to the holographic wall behind her. It flared to life, displaying rows of profiles and data streams. "Each of you will receive a code designation. This name reflects your ability potential, combat analysis, and projected battlefield behavior."
She paused, letting the implication settle like dust after an explosion. "You will live by it. You will be judged by it. You will be known by it. On mission, your civilian names become classified. You become your designation."
Lyra's whisper carried just far enough to reach Gareth: "This feels ominously permanent."
"Everything here does," he whispered back, a genuine knot of anxiety tightening in his stomach. "I think it's part of the branding."
Vale began calling names, each announcement echoing through the chamber.
"Riven Hale."
Riven stepped forward with that confident swagger he'd clearly been practicing. His green eyes sparkled with excitement.
"Aggressive. Unpredictable. High skill ceiling, low impulse control." Vale's cybernetic eye scanned him. "Probability of friendly fire incident: moderate." She paused. "Designation: Blitz."
Riven's grin looked like it might escape his face. "I love it. That's perfect."
"It shouldn't be," Vale replied flatly. "It's a warning, not a compliment."
Scattered, nervous laughter rippled through the ranks.
"Lyra Kazen."
She stepped forward with controlled grace, posture military-perfect, but Gareth could see the tension in her shoulders.
"Strategic precision. Maintains composure under extreme pressure. Ability to bend light translates to tactical flexibility." Vale's tone barely shifted, but something like approval flickered in her expression. "Designation: Spectre."
Lyra nodded once, sharp and professional. "Acknowledged, Commander."
Vale's eyes swept the assembled cadets, then settled with unnerving accuracy. "Gareth Lancer."
The room's attention focused like a laser sight. Gareth walked forward, his new physique making him move differently through space—more present, more substantial. His blue eyes stayed locked on Vale's amber ones, a feat that made every instinct scream that staring down predators was historically unwise.
Vale studied him for a long moment, longer than anyone else.
Her cybernetic eye hummed softly.
"Peak combat instincts combined with analytical processing that borders on precognitive. Adaptive counter capability with undefined ceiling. Still integrating." She paused, and something complicated crossed her features. "You think like a machine remembering it's human, but you fight like a human trying to forget it's not."
The silence felt thick enough to walk on.
"Designation: Cipher."
The word hung in the air like a challenge.
Gareth's expression didn't change, but he felt the name settle deep inside him. It fit in a way that was both comforting and terrifying. "Understood, Commander."
As he returned to formation, Lyra's voice came as a whisper. "Cipher. A code to be broken. Fitting."
"Thanks," he muttered. "That's definitely reassuring and not at all existentially concerning."
Riven leaned closer. "At least you didn't get Blitz. You know how much pressure that is to live up to?"
"You literally asked for that pressure two minutes ago."
"Doesn't make it less intense!"
After the ceremony, squads were officially reassigned. Gareth, Lyra, Riven, and two others—Jade, a quiet telekinetic, and Corren, a steady plasma specialist—were grouped under Vice Commander Rael, Vale's second-in-command.
They were designated Unit Hound: fast, surgical, and probably doomed to die doing something heroic.
Rael led them into a private field hangar that smelled of ozone, gun oil, and poor life choices. He was a wall of a man—six-foot-three of muscle and scar tissue wrapped in combat gear that had seen actual combat. A cybernetic arm replaced his left from the elbow down—black alloy with red accent lights that pulsed with his heartbeat.
When he spoke, his voice carried the gravel of someone who'd screamed orders through one too many firefights:
"You've all proven you can fight. Now I'll see if you can function. There's a difference. Fighting is instinct. Functioning is discipline."
He tossed each of them a data chip. "New protocols. Paired combat begins today. No system interference beyond basic analysis. Just you, your partner, and the question of whether you can trust someone when dying becomes an option."
Lyra stepped up beside Gareth, a training rifle in her hands. "Looks like we're up first, Cipher."
He raised an eyebrow at the use of his designation, a strange thrill running through him. "Try to keep up, Spectre."
"I'm going to make you regret that confidence."
Rael's voice cut through their banter. "Begin."
The training drones activated instantly—silver blurs of death moving with purpose.
Gareth moved with fluid precision, each strike clean and minimal. Lyra flowed around him like water around stone, reading his rhythm like a language she'd always known. Her photonic spears pinned targets while his counters exploited the openings. The other squad members stopped to watch—partly tactical observation, partly witnessing something that looked less like training and more like a violent, beautiful dance.
[System Note: Adaptive Counter now integrating teammate abilities at 67% efficiency.]
[Predictive analysis incorporating ally movement patterns.]
When the simulation ended in a shower of sparks, Rael's voice came through comms: "Effective pairing. Unusual synchronization for a first joint exercise." He paused, then added quieter: "But don't rely on instinct alone, Cipher. It can blind you as much as guide you. Instinct doesn't question. That's when it gets you killed."
"Understood, sir."
---
That night, Unit Hound gathered at the observation deck—a platform jutting out over the academy's eastern edge. Aeria's lights burned like circuitry veins below, technology pretending to be alive in the darkness.
Riven was ranting about nearly being taken hostage by a drone. Jade was teasing him mercilessly. Corren looked like he'd already given up on understanding their dynamic. And Lyra just leaned against the railing, quiet in that comfortable way that suggested she was thinking about things she wouldn't say aloud.
Gareth joined her, following her gaze out over the city lights.
"Cipher," she said, testing the name. "It fits. Mysterious. Unreadable. Probably full of secrets."
He gave a small, genuine smile. "Aren't we all?"
She glanced at him sideways, green eyes catching the city lights. "Some of us more than others."
He felt that familiar warmth in his chest again, the one that appeared around her. This time, he didn't try to analyze it. He just let it be.
"Get some rest," she said, pushing off the railing. "Tomorrow Rael's going to try to kill us in creative ways. It's his teaching style."
"Looking forward to it."
[Calibration: 74%]
For the first time since arriving at Arcadia, Gareth didn't feel like an anomaly standing among soldiers. He felt like part of something bigger—a team, a unit.
And yet beneath it all, that faint hum of buried memory persisted—a whisper in the circuitry, a voice that knew his name before he'd earned it.
Somewhere in the data streams, something was remembering him.
And soon, he'd have to remember it back.